


Scorch

by SilentApocalypse



Series: when this is over [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: "Children Won the War" AU, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentApocalypse/pseuds/SilentApocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, but that isn't the end. Cynthia can't face the horrors in her memories yet, but she can't put them off much longer. Now that she's not fighting there isn't much to distract her. When those intrusive thoughts put her in danger, she may have to admit to herself she's not as okay as she'd like to believe. At least friends can help her pick up the pieces and tell her she's not alone in hurting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scorch

Cynthia had always felt more comfortable on the back of a pegasus than anywhere else in a world. Some of her earliest memories were of her mother taking her along for a ride, smiling softly at her daughter’s glee at the “pretty pega-pony” in flight. Whether she was scouting or practicing or fighting or even just riding around, a luxury she certainly hadn’t been afforded during the long war, the back of a winged horse felt like home. Now that the fighting was over, it was where she preferred to be.

When she had to have her feet on the ground, she liked to keep herself busy. When she slowed down, she started thinking about too many things, about blood on white feathers and the fearful whinnies of a doomed pegasus and her mother shouting hoarsely about how much she loved her and the overwhelming heat as she struggled to fly as fast as she could while flames crackled all around her and the choking stench of burning flesh and hair and—

Well. They weren’t pleasant thoughts.

So even though they finally had the time to rest, Cynthia still rose early in the morning, washing her face and taking the time to carefully work the knots out of her short, wavy hair. She only ever let it grow enough to hang a bit below her shoulders when let down, not long and flowing and adorned with a winged ornament as was traditional of pegasus knights in the old days. Lucina wasn’t much for those kinds of formalities and even if she had been it wasn’t as though they had the luxury of being picky about such things in these times.

Her hair was starting to get a bit longer than she’d like, she thought as she arranged her standard high pigtails. They were even with her chin,  nearly scraping the top of her shoulders. For a moment, she thought about growing it out now that she had much more free time and energy to devote to a less practical hairstyle. Pigtails were probably a little childish, after all, and experimenting would give her something else to waste her time on. But she thought about her mother’s elegant long hair slowly going up in flames, raising thick, sickly-scented smoke as it did, and felt her heart twist. She wasn’t ready to face those memories head on, and so short pigtails it would be. She would have to find a good, sharp knife one of these days, she decided, and maybe ask one of the other girls to help trim her ends evenly.

She found herself offering to help with breakfast nearly every morning, even when she wasn’t on duty. The schedule for chores, making meals and weapon maintenance and patrols and the like, had yet to change since the battles ended. Maybe they were all trying to hold on to some semblance of stability and routine when everything suddenly seemed so different. No one commented on Cynthia’s continued early wakeups and extra help, perhaps too caught up in their own thoughts to pry.

Once that was done, she would head out to the stables. They seemed so empty now with just the personal mounts for those of them who rode in combat. She remembered being a child and tagging along with her mother, eyes going wide at all the many horses and pegasuses in stall after stall. There had been many extra animals in those days, ones used for training soldiers who wished to learn or as backups when another was tired, ill, or too old to work anymore. Back then, it was almost unheard of for a soldier’s mount to be killed in battle.

Cynthia thanked her lucky stars that her pegasus had managed to make it through the war alive somehow. The beloved winged horse had been her mother’s partner at first, but in a fight gone wrong near the start of the war Cynthia’s own pegasus had been killed. In the chaos that followed, her mother managed to put injured Cynthia on her pegasus and have them to escape. She fought valiantly on the ground with lance in hand, but when the Risen set the field ablaze with magic she had no way to escape. Cynthia had seen her mother burn to death, unable to do anything but bear witness to the moment a person became a corpse. When she had recovered enough to fight again, it was her mother’s mount she rode into battle.

She and Gerome had endured much gentle ribbing from the others at just how dear their winged companions were to them, but she wouldn’t ever back down on it. Besides being her faithful ally, the pegasus was all she had left of her mother. She knew Gerome’s wyvern Minerva was much the same for him.

He had been spending a lot of time out in the stables lately, even compared to her. It was getting to the point she started to wonder if he ever set foot in his assigned room. That particular morning he was curled up in the hay in Minerva’s stall, sleeping with his head resting against her back. She wasn’t surprised to find him there given he’d skipped breakfast. The wyvern raised her head when Cynthia creaked the door open but settled back down upon recognizing the girl.

She set about taking care of her pegasus quietly, cleaning her stall and grooming her. That done, she grabbed her saddle and reins and headed outside. While she was able to tell herself the first few flights were to survey the area or check for survivors, she knew this was really just about having something to do. Well, to be fair, the pegasus needed exercise and fresh air, but Cynthia could have let her go off on her own to do that if she wanted.

Fastening her lance to the saddle, partly out of lingering paranoia and partly out of sheer force of habit, she jumped onto the pegasus’s back. “Let’s go,” she said softly, and the pegasus stretched its wings, cantering into a run before taking flight.

The day was clear but cold. She shivered slightly, wishing she had thought to wear more layers. It still felt strange to be riding without her armor, and the heavy metal had done a lot to cut the chill of the wind. But there was something to be said about being light and fast and free in the sky.

Cynthia let the pegasus choose their path. The animal would know the way back even if the girl didn’t. For a while, she just stared into the clouds and breathed, enjoying the smells and sounds of the outside world.

But then she caught a whiff of something that broke the spell of her carefree reverie. It was the faint stench of charred ruins. Her eyes snapped to the ground, and she recognized the place as the sight of an old battlefield. Her friends had been the ones to cause this, mostly Laurent with a fire tome to be specific, as they tried to slow down a group of Risen too large for them to handle while they fled. But looking at the wreckage, she swore she could see hear the flames roaring in her ears, see the flickering blaze devour someone so dear to her, feel the heat scorching her lungs—

Until she heard the frantic neighing, she didn’t realize she was falling, having lost her grip and her balance. Her thigh was bleeding where it had scraped against the blade of her lance on the way down. She hadn’t been flying terribly high, still close enough to make out details on the ground, but she also wasn’t wearing her armor. 

Those thoughts seemed far too calm, but somehow in spite of the danger there was no panic in her mind. After that quick assessment of the situation, all she could think of was how to fall. Having inherited her mother’s klutziness, her first lesson in riding a pegasus was how to come out of a spill without any serious damage.

She tried to arrange herself how she was supposed to, to slam her palms down flat to try to absorb most of the impact, but the ground was too close and it was more like she just jammed her right arm into the ground instead. It cracked and bent beneath her weight and her side crashed down on top of it. Everything else fell in a lump as the force of the impact sent her tumbling several times before she finally, finally came to a stop.

Cynthia cracked her eyes open and groaned. All the breath had fled from her lungs, but she was definitely alive. Her pegasus swooped down to her side, whining at her. She wanted to say she was all right, but all that came out of her mouth was a short, airy wheeze. Her lungs didn’t seem to want to cooperate with her.

The pegasus carefully nosed her side, and for a moment her vision swam, agony shooting through her. Broken ribs, she decided morosely as she tried to remember how to draw breath. Maybe only cracked, if she was extraordinarily lucky, but she wasn’t feeling particularly fortunate. She didn’t even want to look at her arm. Bone fragments were poking through her skin and she could  _ feel _ it and that was more than bad enough. Leaning heavily on her pegasus, she slowly began to drag herself up. “That sure was stupid of me, huh?” she whispered hoarsely.

Normally she would hear a snort in response to a comment like that, but now her mount simply looked at her with shining, concerned eyes. “Let’s go back,” she muttered, ashamed to have even her pegasus worrying about her. Though there was no way she was jumping up on the winged horse’s back with a busted arm, she managed to find a suitable pile of rubble to climb so she could simply swing her leg over the saddle.

They flew very close to the ground and on the slow side on the way back. Her pegasus was constantly readjusting whenever her balance shifted the slightest bit. Cynthia knew she would need to apologize to her mount and try to set her mind at ease once she recovered, but right now just hanging onto consciousness was as much as she could manage.

They landed in front of the castle and Cynthia slid off, nearly falling over as her slashed leg buckled under her weight. Her good arm grabbed the saddle to steady herself, but everything hurt and she really wasn’t sure she could walk inside.

“Where in the world have you been, Cynthia? You’re supposed to being helping with lunch today and you’re so late!” Severa looked even more annoyed than usual as she tore out the entrance. “I don’t care if you want to do extra chores. That's no excuse to…” She froze as she took in the pegasus rider’s disheveled, bloody appearance. “I’ll go get Brady,” she shouted over her shoulder as she ran back into the castle.

It wasn’t just Brady who came out moments later. Laurent and Lucina were also with him, and the commander was rushing out in the lead as always. “What in Naga’s name happened to you?” she asked, dread in her tone. She likely feared the Risen were back.

Cynthia had slid down to the ground, lying flat on her back and trying to avoid putting any more pressure on her injured body. It made her feel tiny as she looked up at Lucina standing over her. “I fell,” she answered, not sure what else there was to say.

For several seconds, Lucina just stared down at her. “You fell,” she repeated blankly, like she didn’t understand.

“Off my pegasus,” she supplied as though it wasn’t obvious. “I got distracted.”

The commander was still frowning down at her. “But you haven’t fallen from your pegasus in years.”  _ Not since before your mother died, _ Cynthia felt like she was saying. “You’ve been shot down or knocked off a few times in battle, I know, but just falling in an open field? Are you certain?”

“That’s what I said!” she snapped, and a pang shot through her chest in protest at her outburst. There was a lump in her throat and a prickle in her eyes but she was  _ not _ going to cry in front of anyone, most especially not Lucina, of all people, their serious leader who she had  _ never _ seen cry, who never even seemed fazed by anything. Real heroes didn’t cry.  _ They also don’t snap at their allies _ , she thought miserably.

She just stood there in silence with her arms crossed and her lips pursed. “I’m just trying to make sure I understand what happened,” she said softly.

Brady and Laurent caught up, taking in the awkward atmosphere between the girls. “Uh, beggin’ your pardons and all, Lucina, but can I take a look at Cynthia here?” Brady asked. She nodded tersely and took a few steps back.

He knelt down on one side and Laurent mirrored him on the other. Brady was their staff expert, but Laurent had learned a thing or two about healing over the course of their many battles as well. “Where does it hurt?” Laurent started off simply.

Cynthia just mutely pointed with her left hand at her mangled right arm, her slashed leg, and her midsection. Her throat felt too thick for her to trust herself with words. She hissed involuntarily as Laurent’s fingers gently prodded her broken arm. He said something about it in a tone that sounded concerned, but her head was throbbing and her mind was sluggish.

Before she could think straight enough to parse what he had said, Brady’s fingers carefully brushed against her ribs and stole her breath away. Most of the comment that followed went straight through one ear and out the other, but two words stuck in her mind: “definitely broken”.

The cut was far and away the least of any of their concerns, though all the blood that had dripped from it and caked her leg was probably a good part of the reason she felt so dizzy. That wound, at least, was quickly fixed with the application a staff.

Cynthia felt hazy as the makeshift medical team hoisted her up to bring her to the room in the castle they used as an infirmary. Healing was always so exhausting. The last thing she remembered was Lucina leading her bloodstained pegasus back towards the stables.

 

***

 

Cynthia came to on a cot in a room that smelled like vulneraries, elixirs, and antitoxins. She blinked, trying to get the sleep out of her eyes. Lucina was there, clearly having been the one assigned infirmary duty. She was efficient as ever, sorting through the jumbled collection of staffs in the corner while the injured girl slept.

She had half a mind to close her eyes and go back to sleep, but she thought the better of it. Running away from her problems never helped to solve them. This incident had proven that. “Morning,” she called, her voice more hoarse than she had expected.

Lucina turned to her with a wan smile. “You mean evening,” she corrected as she sat in the chair at her cot’s side. “You’ve been out about half a day. Given how tired Brady and Laurent looked after treating you, I’m not particularly surprised.”

“You look awfully tired yourself.”

“I’m actually supposed to switch shifts and go to bed soon.”

After that, the girls just stared at each other for a moment. “I’m sorry,” they both mumbled at the same time, causing another awkward silence to follow.

“What are you sorry for?” Cynthia finally asked.

“Well, to start with, I told the whole story to Inigo and he told me I was being insensitive again and I should apologize.” Privately Cynthia wondered what a flirt like him knew about sensitivity, but she knew well enough to keep that thought to herself. Lucina was closer to him than anyone, having known him since they were both just babies. If anyone knew when to trust his judgement, it was her. “But more than that I thought it over and I believe what I said could easily be taken in a way I never intended it. I wasn’t meaning to offend you and I’m sorry that it sounded as though I was accusing you of being incompetent.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cynthia protested. “I overreacted. I knew what you meant but I got all riled up over it anyway.”

“Can we agree to forgive each other?” Lucina asked tentatively, sticking out her hand. Though she was always commanding in combat, their leader had a tendency to be hesitant in non-emergency situations.

“Yeah, of course!” she chirped, trying to reach out her right hand as she normally would but wincing and freezing when her securely bandaged limb moved the tiniest bit.

Her brow creased with concern. “You need to keep your arm still. Laurent actually said he hadn’t been certain they would be able to fix it given how many pieces the bones shattered into. They managed, but it needs at least a few weeks to heal properly.”

The pain killed any motivation she had to protest, so she just nodded. “And the rest of me?”

She sighed. “You broke several ribs. They’re set now but you can’t push them, and you need to try to take deep breaths even though it’s going to hurt. You don’t want to get pneumonia on top of everything else. Brady is going to keep an eye out for that. As for your leg, the injury is healed, but with all the blood you lost you’re going to need to rest and recover for a few days.”

Cynthia blinked a few times as she let it all sink in. “Not as bad as it could have been,” she said brightly.

“You really think so?” she asked.

She closed her eyes, and behind her eyelids the flaming scene she saw so often in her nightmares was imprinted clearly. But when she opened them all she could see was the infirmary and Lucina sitting beside her. “I mean, I'm going to be all right. We've all seen some horrible things, you know? Actually, I..." She stopped for a moment, willing herself to find courage. "I was thinking about the past,” she confessed quietly, almost evasively. It took her another several seconds to elaborate. “Before I lost my concentration and fell, I was thinking about my mother. When she died, I mean.”

“Oh.” That was all Lucina said.

“I was flying around, you know, just for the sake of it, and ended up over that place Laurent torched when we were running from all those Risen a few months back. You remember?” She didn’t pause long enough to get an answer. “Well, it still kind of smelled like fire there. Or it’s more like it smelled burnt, like something that was once fire, if that makes any sense? And when I smelled that, I could sort of see it, and…”

The rest of the sentence died in her throat. She didn’t know what else there was to say, really. It was embarrassing enough to admit she still thought about it so much. Getting any more specific about her flashbacks was more than she was willing to bear.

“I’m sorry,” Lucina said after a long silence. “That’s why I needed to be the one to apologize. I was prying and I shouldn’t have. We’ve all agreed not to.”

“I never heard that,” she protested, confused.

She smiled sadly. “I don’t mean a formal discussion took place. I’m saying we don’t draw attention to someone when they’re hurting because we all hurt sometimes and we all deserve the privacy to not talk about it if we don’t want to.”

Now it was Cynthia’s turn to just say, “Oh.”

“I know this is empty comfort, but you should know you’re not the only one among us who has some difficult times. I won’t say I completely understand what you’re going through as that would be an insult to your individual experience. But I’ve had my own share of struggles, and I’d wager we’re not the only ones having a bit of a hard time adjusting.”

Cynthia didn’t quite know what to say to that, so she just stared up at the ceiling. “Brady asked me to fetch him if you woke,” Lucina continued. “It’s about time for me to switch with him besides that. If he knew I was putting it off, he’d be quite angry with me.”

“Better not make him too mad,” Cynthia said with a toothy grin. As the other girl went to stand up, she suddenly continued, “Oh, and Lucina? Thanks. I mean it. And, uh, if it helps… I’ve always sort of thought of you as one of the biggest heroes I know.” Her cheeks were bright pink. “You’ve always been kind of like an inspiration to me. So… well, like I said, thanks.”

Lucina had a small smile. “I suppose I’ll need to try to live up to those expectations, then. I’ll see you later, Cynthia.”

Pain didn’t go away in an instant. The aches in her side and arm were a firm reminder of that fact. But maybe, just maybe, Cynthia thought, admitting she was hurt would be the first step in starting to heal.


End file.
